


Last Dance

by Ebyru



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mind Games, Season 2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like flying, but you die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the shuffle fic meme. Posted all 10 on livejournal.  
> This is my first -ever- Sherlock writing.
> 
> Do tell me if it's okay.

_“_ It’s like flying, but you die.”

Moriarty laughs cynically, his mouth twitching as he tries to feign composure once he’s done.

Sherlock is not amused. He’s even less so when John pulls up in a taxi. The poor man. Poor, stupid man. He should have stayed with Mrs. Hudson. It would have been easier than this.

Moriarty hums, grabbing Sherlock and turning him away from the sight of John.

“Keep your eyes on me. I need the attention. I need it _all_. John doesn’t understand; he doesn’t want to. But you do. You need it—like me. You need to understand. Don’t you?”

Sherlock tries to pull his arm away but Moriarty only pulls him closer, lacing their fingers.

“Do you like dancing, Sherlock? I’ve never tried with a partner before. You seem stiff. Maybe I should lead?”

They turn, waltz from one end of the roof to the other, eyes on each other’s. Sherlock’s mind is elsewhere, most likely on John below.

Sherlock sighs, feels his pocket vibrating. Moriarty presses in to feel it, too. Even the vibration feels desperate and worried, just like their _dear_ friend John. Moriarty hums when Sherlock shifts and it vibrates against his crotch instead.

“Oh, you dirty virgin. Never thought you’d be like this.”

Its Sherlock’s turn to lead. If he’s going to fly, anyway, then might as well enjoy the build-up. He presses a kiss to Moriarty’s neck; sweat, cologne, upraised skin. Moriarty’s enjoying this. He prepared for this. Took his time picking a scent. Too bad Sherlock isn’t impressed—

They fall.


End file.
